Dol Guldur
by Leathe
Summary: The young dungeon-cleaner of Dol Guldur meets Glorfindel after he's been taken prisoner there and helps him escape. T to be safe.


A/N This is the story of Arnaksh, a young mortal girl who cleans the dungeons and feeds the prisoners of Dol Guldor. She is bound to the service of the Necromancer, and when this story takes place, she is just about twelve or thirteen. Yes, I know it's probably crap.

From the window of the top level dungeons, I watched them bring him in. The Orcs were riding their great beasts, half horse and half evil, nameless animal, and dragging their prisoners behind them. Not that there were very many-thank the Sulimo. The Woodelves were too keen to let themselves be caught very often, but Men passing through, Dwarves, even Rangers occasionally-all these fell in His traps.  
And today, only five wretched beings had been caught. Though they were still many yards away, just making their way through the slag heaps piled throughout this part of the forest, I tried to discern who the Elf they had caught was. Hard to see, though-I could only see that he was tall and fair.

But doubtless I would have further aquaintance with him.  
I shuddered. I could feed them, tend their wounds, keep their cells clean-but when they were taken to the torture chambers, I could not help them. Only try to keep the bones clean and keep the flies away. All day, I took care of them.

The Orcs were at the gate now, and I ran out towards them. As I quickly stepped towards the prisonrs, I took care to keep my head down and eyes forwards, and not speak. I had been whipped for less.  
I flinched as a claw reached past me, but the Orc was only getting a waterbag out.  
The prisoners were piled onto one horse, all unconsious, and some trapped in spider webs.  
The Elf, however, was thrown onto the ground, eyes glazed and unseeing, long hair matted and filthy with mud. And blood-blood was everywehere. I could barely see the features of his face for cuts and bruises and swellings, and his clothes-once rich and beautiful- were ripped and soaked in blood. I ducked my head before they could see the tears as I shuffled off with the horse and the men. The Elf I had to leave until later.

* * *

All that day I went about in an agony of impatience to see my Elf-for so I thought of him now. I knew he was in the torture rooms, and when I was finished with my duty, and heard screams coming from it, I stopped my ears, afraid that it was my Elf.  
Hours and hours later, I was called for.  
The torture room stank of blood, and the knives and twists were filthy with gore. My Elf was lying on a slab of iron, awake now, and panting for breath. I had thought his condition could get no worse than it already was, but I was wrong. The skin of his arms hung in flaps and shreds, and one of the points of his ears was cut off.  
The Orcs were laughing and kicking him, and as I came in, he was tossed at me.  
I dragged him out, crying as I did so. Once we were in the corridor, I tried to speak to him. I knew Sindarin very well, but what if the only tongue he spoke was High Elven?  
"Who are you?"  
He looked up at me.  
"I could ask you the same question. What is a child of Men doing in this foul place?"  
I tried to keep my voice steady. "That is a long story. But I am Arnaksh, the Orc bond. I care for the prisoners, and I will care for you."  
HIs voice was faint with pain.  
"I must trust you, I suppose. There is no one else to trust, and you are only a youngling. Even like this-" he suddenly seized up, and jerked forward, coughing and moaning with pain. "-even like this I am stronger than you. But you ask who I am- you ask a great boon, little one, but I will tell you. I am Glorfindel, come only recently from Imladris to warn the foolish Thranduil to send a messenger. And the Orcs took me after I delivered my message, and brought me here."

We had reached his dungeon now. It was barely big enough for the Elf to lie down in, and the floor was slimy and stank. But the straw was fresh and clean, and its smell served somewhat to mask the stink.  
I lay Glorfindel gently down on the straw. "I'll be back soon with bandages-please try to lay still."  
It was hardly necessary to say- he was lying horribly still, barely breathing.  
I wondered if he would die.

But when I did come back, bearing a bowl of water and strips of fairly clean cloth and salve, he seemed a little better. Some of the older wounds had already started to scab over.  
His eyes were closed, and he was breathing softly. I knew he was not asleep, but only resting in the manner of his people. I smiled involuntarily, but it quickly disappeared when I saw the extent of his wounds. Deep and serious, they cover him-but the worst is his arms. Ripped and torn and stabbed- in many places his bones and muscles show through clearly in a hideously beautiful tapestry of death.  
I carefully arrange the shredded skin, rub it with salve, wrap them in cloth, but I know there's nothing else I can do.

He laughs weakly.  
"Did they make a mess of me?"I nod, afraid to speak because I've cried too much today already.  
He flexes his arm. "It feels a little better. Thank you, Elad."  
I jerk my head up, startled. "What did you call me?"  
"Elad. Valley-star."  
"Oh."  
I bend over him again. Once I've applied the salve, the swellings around his face begin to go down again, and I can move on to his chest and back.  
I pull the top of his tunic down to his hips, baring his torso.  
It's strange, that I've seen so many people cut up and half-naked, and me having to bring them back from the brink of death, but it's so different- now, with him. I don't know why.  
As I massage the herbs into his torn skin and bandage it, I see the extent of what those foul things did to him. Literally scraped him with a grater. Oh, my elf, my Glorfindel- when I'm done, I'm exhausted. The muscles in my arms are shaking and worn out, but Glorfindel looks a little better.  
He sits up and smiles at me. "Thank you again, little daughter."  
And because I'm on the brink of tears and feeling so lonely, I throw myself into his arms and sob my heart out, just like I would with my own, real father.  
His hand gently strokes my hair, and I can hear him murmuring soothing words to me, and I know how much it has to hurt him just to move-so I get up, and stumble out, vision obscured in tears.


End file.
